


if I had my own language

by Hazzafagga



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Adultery, Alcohol, Angst, Cheating, College AU, Comedy, Drugs, Graduation, High School AU, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Original Male Characters - Freeform, Party, cross dressing, gay relationship, larry - Freeform, zarry - Freeform, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:24:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8173066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazzafagga/pseuds/Hazzafagga
Summary: one where harry loves louis but also loves brown sugar





	

**Author's Note:**

> literally I started this two years ago at my sisters graduation n wrote the last sentence after months of neglect :') I planned on doing more w this but I figure it's fine as is n is long as shit anyway  
> I am so sorry for how lame n long this is I am incapable of writing short stories 
> 
> songs/artists:
> 
> childish gambino  
> the game  
> the flaming lips - "ego tripping at the gates of hell"  
> talking heads - "burning down the house"  
> the kooks  
> demi lovato

The only thing Harry can think about is how cold his skin is against his gown. Of course he's got on a button-down, but that's also cold, though he's sweating and it makes him feel gross. The line toward the stage is getting shorter and shorter by the second, and because he's never done this before, he's constantly looking back to see what Louis is doing. Louis hasn't changed his productivity at all from the time they've stood and left their year group to get their diplomas. And there's just no one else to look at besides Marvin, but he doesn't quite feel like making eye contact with him about now.

A man beckons Harry up then, just outside of the curtain he is to come out of, and he can feel the eyes already. The ceremonial announcers are just in the middle of the S-T group, making Harry feel absolutely sick.

It's okay, though, because most of Harry's friends have already gone, so since he's not the first or the last to walk the stage, he'll make-do with the stomach ache and sweat.

"Harold Edward Styles."

The name sounds like the ugliest, most godawful little thing ever uttered through the lips of mankind. But Harry can't just run away and hide because Louis will give him a proper beating or perhaps destroy the bed he's made perfectly this morning by throwing the duvet and sprinkling feathers from the bird cage all over his sheets. Plus, Harry plain looks too cute in his gown to be running off somewhere to throw up, and he's absolutely sure his mum bought him flowers. He wants those goddamn flowers.

It's embarrassing, but Harry comes out with a bright smile and flushed cheeks. Flushed because he could have sworn he heard Gemma scream at him from the back of the venue, somewhere out there, and he's just seen his family shoot out of their seats, so now he knows where not to look. He nearly forgets his diploma on his way to shake the Head Master's hand, but thankfully he's got it along with a handshake and hopefully, maybe, a rose bouquet.

So now he's back seated with his graduating group, anticipating Louis' name that should be announced within the next couple of minutes, and he's practically shaking from the sweat and potential pee he has.

"Louis William Tomlinson."

Harry's face goes beautifully lit, clapping as subtly as he can for his boy who just looks so precious and tiny in his cap and gown. And he's glad Louis didn't do his hair up this morning because he really does fill the attire, the way his fringe kind of fluffs out under his cap and he just swims in his gown, completely lost in it. Louis isn't that small, but Harry likes to think so because he himself is so big and holding Louis in tight hugs with his arms round his neck makes Harry feel like he can fly away with him or, like, punch through a paneled wall.

Only he doesn't have super strength and can't fly. But if he magically, impossibly, conveyed that superpower, he would definitely fly away from this ceremony and go home to tend his garden.

When the ceremony ends and the mass of graduates turn over their tassels and toss their caps, Harry with his bouquet and Louis his brand-new DS game, the boys are off to change for whatever afterparty sounds right.

Potting his roses in a blue porcelain vase, Harry can't stop thinking about the shirt he was supposed to get for his graduation gift. Obviously he knows that a measly shirt isn't a gift at all, but his is £96.70 at an online shop and he really, truly wants it - needs it - and since he's always complaining, yes, it is very much a gift. Unfortunately, though, despite all of the hints he's dropped on the subject the past couple of weeks, his mum, nor anyone, has yet bought it. He's stuck wearing is sleeveless Hawaiian shirt, one that's got vintage cars and palm trees on it. Of course Harry likes that sort of thing, been into cars since he was young, but he's really had a fancy for green velvet lately. And that's why the shirt costs £96.70. It's so damn cool.

"No, I didn't get spliff, and, no, I'm not loaning you money to get spliff." Louis is rummaging through Harry's closet looking for something he called "grey and peachy", though Harry knows he doesn't have it. However, there is a small chance he does and that would lead to Louis becoming an I-told-you-so jerk and slapping him upside the head.

"Harry got some spliff," Niall says, fixing his hair in the mirror. "Haven't you, Harry?"

"Not enough for all of us. I never do, you know that." Harry fluffs up his roses and moves the vase to the window seat to better catch the sunlight. "Weren't you supposed to meet with your dealer or something, like, yesterday?"

"Oh, no, yeah? Reckon that was Zayn."

"Right, Zayn. Ask him."

Niall laughs a derisive laugh as he puts on his Snapback and pulls it round backwards. Harry loves that Snapback on him - calls it his "piggybank" for reasons he refuses to explain, as he's afraid it will make him sound lame and kiddish. But he explains it to himself in his head whenever he sees the "piggybank Snapback", and he thinks it's rather clever.

"I ain't asking Zayn for no weed," Niall says, shaping up his eyebrows. "He's a scary motherfuck when it comes to passing round a bowl."

"Remember what I said about how everyone should just smoke their own weed? I don't wanna share with you guys. You smoke all of it and I only get two decent hits at most."

Harry looks at Zayn across his room, and he can basically feel the holes in the back of his head that Louis' burning, because he just can't seem to pick his jaw up off the floor with his ravishing view of Zayn putting on makeup.

Yes, Harry had always fancied Zayn in secondary school, but for the mere reason that his hair was possibly the darkest and most luscious hair he'd ever seen. Zayn has his hair shaven off the sides now, like a death-hawk if that's the right term (but perhaps not because his hair is nowhere near that long), and since he only has the cut and not the style, Harry still finds himself drooling over him at times. Louis makes him forget that Zayn even exists, though, with every chance he gets, and Harry doesn't mind that. After all, he knows he will never love anyone more than he loves Louis, even though Louis is entirely jealous and downright obnoxious, but then again, so is Harry. Harry has himself convinced that that's why they get on so well. They're both properly annoying.

"No one is ever hanging out with you if you keep a hold on bud like that. It's not funny. You just look a right knob-arse ponce, the way you do that."

"'Knob-arse ponce'?" Zayn goes in with liquid eyeliner and, oh, Harry is damn near fucked if Louis catches his heart eyes. "You've a potty mouth on you, that. Harry, let me do you some makeup."

Trying his absolute hardest to rid the blush riding his face, Harry looks down to check if his buttons are all matched with the holes, which they are. He's just too embarrassed and awkward to say, "Man, it's hot in here," or, "I think I'm coming down with a fever," and cooly play off his obviousness.

"I actually don't think I want to today," he says, going up behind Niall at the mirror to pretend to fix his hair. But apparently his hair could use the fixing-up. "Maybe mascara. Not sure. I think I want to be more boyish tonight."

"You mean _look_ more boyish. We're all 'boyish' as it gets, frankly."

"Yeah, I know, mate. Just don't wanna wear makeup tonight, is all."

Zayn huffs, slumping down and looking rather upset. "Well, now everyone's gonna be staring at me tonight. Niall's just done routine and you and Louis ain't gonna be wearin' anything, so everyone's gonna stare at me."

Harry sincerely feels his pain. He knows how it feels to be a boy in makeup and get stared at. He knows that feeling far too well. And with the people who come up to him in the street or shops sometimes mistaking him for a drag queen really manages to put him down. He's not knocking drag, but he knows he isn't like that. He's just a boy who likes makeup. Nothing more.

"No one's gonna stare at you, mate," Louis reassures him, slipping into a grey crop-top that says _PEACHY_.

Harry moves to the other side of the room before Louis can be a jerk and slap him, but he just looks an ignoramus running away from absolutely nothing.

"If someone's got their eye on you, it's 'cause you're a shagable eleven out of ten. If not, and they've got beef for some reason, I'm beatin' the shit out of 'em till they're beggin' for their mum. All right?"

  
Zayn laughs and finishes up his eyes. He puts himself into a gothic romper and black pumps, which are called "plus size Mary Janes lace-up chunky block pumps", but it's a bit long, so Harry settles on "M.J. laces". He thinks Zayn looks nice in them - makes him a little taller. Just exactly his height and, yes, Harry fancies shorter guys, but Zayn's long, thin legs could surely be the death of him if Louis wasn't consistently slapping the googly eyes out of his head.

When the boys get to the party, Niall's instantly off with a couple of mates for a drink and Zayn tagging alongside Harry only because he's bigger and might make him seem harder to mess with. That, and Harry is always good company to him. It's hardly minded now that Zayn will probably never, ever fancy him the way he does, mostly because he's with Louis now and Harry's no cheater. But then it's also because, well, Zayn is straight and that's basically the only thing that's keeping Harry from having a hookup and some scandal. It's horrible. He knows that. But what Louis doesn't know won't hurt him. That's what Harry thinks.

"I'm gonna get a drink," Louis says to the boys, running his hands over his bum to check everything feels fine and that his phone isn't slipping out. "Want something?"

Harry's quick to the challenge. Though it was very sly and on the low, he's caught it, and noway is Louis leaving him alone with Zayn. "No, but I'm a bit for a snack. Maybe, like, some Coco Pops or something."

"Yes, I'm quite sure I'll be able to find that in the kitchen's mass of lizard bitches."

"It's all right," Harry says smiling. "I'll help look for it. Zayn, come along?" He's got this in the bag.

Zayn rubs his arm and looks round, hoping to find someone he knows just in case he's left alone anyways. "Um, I'm good, thanks. I think I just seen Liam somewhere, so I'll catch you guys later."

"'Kay, sure. Text me if you get bored or, like, lonesome."

And Harry's just lost the bag. He's mentally cursing himself now, but perhaps Louis might see this with Harry's-so-polite-and-charismatic-and-totally-not-into-his-best-mate-anymore sort of assumptions. But, shit, if Harry actually expects Louis to be thinking that, he knows absolutely nothing about his boyfriend.

"Have I told you how hot you look in your cap and gown?" he tries flattering Louis whilst they're drinking. "I was seriously so scared I was going to get hard walking the stage or something. You're gonna end up having me to take Viagra."

Louis raises a brow at that. "I'm gonna end up having you trying for a hard-on?"

"No."

"You do know that Viagra's supposed to help get you hard, right?"

Harry scratches his head in thought, trying to wrap his brain round the fact that he actually, verbally just said what Louis is saying he said. "Oh. I thought it was to keep it down."

"No, it's to help you get hard."

"Oh. Well, I'm-- I thought it was the other way, but guess not. That was really embarrassing, just then. You definitely aren't going to have me take Viagra, I promise."

Harry's glad he's making Louis laugh. He's glad he's making him forget that he's dating an utter twat and can do so much better than some bloke who cares too much about aesthetic. Louis is way too sweet, cute and plain too good for him. Even Harry wouldn't date Harry.

The way into the night is just too difficult to keep up with. He's got Louis grinding on him in that damned peachy crop-top, gotten himself high off the secondhand smoke alone, Niall pressing him for money every five minutes, people stopping to ask him where he got his outfit and Zayn across the room clinging to Liam like a knotted dog. It's completely contradicting because he loves Louis and they're dancing together, and maybe it's the high talking, but Harry just likes Zayn's way too much to condone his laughter at the things Liam says that probably aren't even funny. Harry feels his chest tightening at the sight of them - Zayn all over Liam as if he fancies him. As if he were gay. But Harry can't even think about that or his fist will be in one of these walls in the next two seconds.

He pulls Louis upstairs to smoke. It's why he denies anyone who might want to mooch off him. He doesn't necessarily mind it, but he likes to have enough just for Louis and him. Louis is his favourite person to smoke with; he always plays tricks on him. He pretends he wants to give Harry a kiss, but shotguns him at the last second. Harry likes that. And Harry loves the way Louis rides his dick whilst he's smoking, cigarettes especially, because Harry doesn't do cigarettes and the fact that it's dangerous to him makes it all the more wild.

That's what they're doing now. In some primary schooler's bedroom, they're fucking on the floor, though there is a perfectly stable mattress beside them, but there's hardly any fun in that.

Harry can't take his eyes off that sinful peachy crop-top reaching so far up Louis' stomach that it's showing off the darling stud he has above his naval. And with Harry's head thrown back and hands clamped non-pliably on Louis' waist, he's sure he's about to come any second. Only Niall's bursting through the door wasted, crawling along the carpet with the look of death on him. So basically Harry and Louis can't finish because they've got to tuck Niall in and fetch water, wherever it may be.

And so as Louis has Niall upstairs, Harry's stumbling round the house looking for a proper drink. He finds a half-empty bottle of blue Gatorade in the fireplace which just might have to do. It's not like Niall will complain about the flavour of it or if it's warm or spiked or isn't exactly Gatorade. But thinking about it, all that sounds disgusting, so Harry puts the bottle back in the fireplace and keeps looking.

It's weird to him seeing Marvin across the room with some girl, as he has never seen Marvin flirt with anyone a day in his life. Not that Marvin isn't cool, because Marvin is probably the coolest person Harry's ever met. He's contemplating why he can't stop staring, and, right, it's because Harry fancies everyone and has had a crush on Marvin ever since he can remember. No, that isn't why. That's probably what Louis would think if he walked in now. Harry doesn't like Marvin. Never has, never will. He's staring because he's wondering where he got his trousers.

"Hey, I got edibles and some, uh... pills. Take it with me?"

Harry has no idea what just happened or how he walked all the way out to the back garden, but, goddamn, if he doesn't clip these weeds right now, he'll go on a rampage. Zayn is in front of him, though, distracting him from potentially the most untended garden he has ever seen, looking at Harry with big, pretty brown eyes.

"I'm actually trying to find some water," Harry says, his neck feeling hot. "Niall got himself shwasted and is probably dead right now, now that I think of it. Yeah... I think he might be dead, Zayn."

The boy smiles, making Harry's heart feel so pained. "I'm sure he's fine. I'm gonna take this. You can pop with me, just real quick?"

"This is a good song. I think it's by Childish Gambino, or, like, Kid Cudi or... something like that."

"No, it-- I think it's Childish Gambino. Come on, let's take this." Zayn grabs Harry's hand, and the face Harry makes is maybe a bit over the top and has him looking too obviously scared. Scared because he's actually, physically holding hands with Zayn and he really, really shouldn't be.

Harry knows he's in deep shit, holding someone's hand that isn't Louis', and of course he could just let go. He can just let go and walk away. But it's _Zayn_. And as far as he knows, they're just friends. Harry isn't doing anything wrong. Except he's supposed to be getting water and is now ditching Louis to pop pills with his guilty pleasure.

The pills go down, and Harry can't remember finishing the cake Zayn shared with him, but apparently he did, as he's high off his arse and will get severely squashed if Louis catches him dancing with Zayn like this.

Harry cannot get his hands off the boy's waist, because, fuck, if he really is straight, _he's_ the one who should get smacked for screwing with Harry's emotions like this. But, no. Harry is going to get his head properly punched because _he's_ the one that looks boyish tonight, _he's_ the one in the back, _he's_ the one with the boner and _he's_ the one that fell for this _obscene trap_ and has got his hands all over someone that _isn't_ Louis.

Maybe whilst Zayn's grinding on him, he can think about what kind of flowers Louis would like tomorrow. Harry's got so many flowers in his garden – he has tons to choose from. Maybe Louis would like Peonies. As long as he doesn't find out that his boyfriend is dancing with someone else like a sleazy minger, like a slut, Peonies will do.

Liam pulls Zayn away for the oddest reason – says he needs to show him the bulldog that's in the other room, and, yes, Harry would be lying if he said he isn't jealous - but the relief that washes over him that he's finally away from Zayn is the greatest feeling to have. So he grabs one of the water bottles that are being kept cold in the pool and heads upstairs.

"I back," he says, stumbling into the primary schooler's room. "They... are using the pool as a ice chess. You could fuckin' imagine how long I look't fathis. Get grateful, nail-arse." Harry chucks the bottle at the back of Niall's head, though it bounces right off, and Niall makes no movement whatsoever. "Damn. I knew he dead."

"He's not dead. Come on, let's go."

"Where we goin'?" Harry asks, following Louis out with their hands entwined. "We gonna go fuck some more?"

"Uh... No, I wanted to dance with you."

"Oh, cool." He smiles down at Louis, loving how cute he is. "I wanna dance with you, too."

As they're downstairs dancing rather naughtily if one must say so, there's talk about someone who's stolen the dog. Harry knows it wasn't Zayn. It couldn't have been. But then, Zayn loves dogs, bulldogs especially, as when he was young, he lost his to cancer, so Harry understands if Zayn took it. And as Louis' just starting to palm Harry through his jeans, some girl is threatening to phone the police.

"I think Zayn took that dog everyone's talking about," Harry says, pulling Louis' bum close to his dick.

"You reckon that?"

"Yeah. Liam showed him it earlier and I haven't seen him after that. What if he took it?"

"Then he better bring it back."

Harry can tell Louis is annoyed with him. He can hear the irritation in his voice as he replies about Zayn because he knows that's what Harry wants. Harry just wants to talk about Zayn to everyone, anyone, and Louis knows it. But he won't do that. If he does, someone will surely tell Louis that he's cheating, which he's not. Harry is not a cheater. But if he had his own language and no one ever knew what he was saying, he would talk and talk on and on about Zayn and how badly he wants to fuck him in two. So good thing thoughts alone don't make a cheater. If thoughts made a cheater, Harry's own mother would collect her things and move out.

  
They found the dog. Turns out it wasn't stolen - someone left the back gate open. But by now, Harry's so close to passing out from all of the weed influencing him, the pill he took finally kicking in, leaving him loud, chaotic and impulsive.

"Go, go, go, go!" Harry's standing on the table with the dog in his arms, the wildest, happiest grin on his face.

He and a couple of boys made up a game which no one understands, having to do with "cup gloves" and the pool, though they're inside and acting menaces to everyone.

The boys across the room run to the table, one taking the dog and the other taking Harry, throwing him over his shoulder. The game is stupid and no one understands it, but if they're having fun, then it really doesn't matter. The boys spin round a few times and go dizzy, so now the race to the pool is a whole lot harder, mostly because the lads have cups on their hands. No one understands why that is either. But Harry's just thrown up along with the dog, and are now being ran outside.

The notion is to see what's easier: carrying a baked graduate or dizzy bulldog. Harry's team gets to the pool first, so that answers that question.

So Harry is wet now and his sleeveless Hawaiian shirt is clinging to him, which might be ruined from the chlorine. If his mum is getting him the £96.70 green velvet shirt, then he really doesn't care at all. But of course he cares, because Zayn's offering his hand to him and pulling him out of the water, pretty, made-up eyes devouring Harry's chest clad in wet vintage cars and palm trees.

"Wasn't that top a gift?"

Harry looks round as if he doesn't know that Zayn is talking to him and that he may just be talking to someone else. Harry's an idiot. But better an idiot than a cheater. "No," he mumbles anyway, wringing out his stringy little curls. "I like this song. Is this Childish Gambino?"

"No, it..." Zayn stops to laugh, as it has just occurred to him that Harry's been trying to avoid conversation with that one. "It's, um... The Game."

"The Game? What the hell's that?"

"Does this song. I know you didn't really think it was Childish Gambino, yeah?"

Harry shrugs, trying to seem uninterested, but with Zayn's legs in that romper, _yes_ , he's very, very fucking interested. "Hm. I think I want some juice," he says, looking away at the garden's peach tree. "Yeah. I think I want some juice."

"Cool, I was just on my way for something, so you can come with." Zayn grabs Harry's hand and starts leading him off, and Harry immediately starts to make that face.

"Nah, I'm gonna-- I gotta piss, man."

"Have you any idea how ripped you sound right now?" Zayn looks over his shoulder at him, and if Harry doesn't fall flat on his face from how kissable Zayn looks in this moment, he's damn near God-blessed.

Harry really does try to forget about his feelings for his crush from secondary school. He's always tried to forget, as way back when, Harry didn't think that liking boys was a normal thing. It worked out well when Zayn moved back home to Bradford and left him with no feelings for anyone, but when Louis came along, his whole world went upside-down. He really, really does love Louis, so he's been mentally punching himself in the head everyday 24/7 from the minute Zayn came back. That was a year ago. Harry's been with Louis for three. And, no - fuck no - he will not cheat on Louis.

That doesn't mean that he can't have friends, though.

Harry's leaning against the fridge with Zayn across him on the counter – has got him laughing at the cheeky things he's saying; about how it's obvious that Liam fancies him and that if Zayn was interested, Harry would make such better company. He can tell Zayn likes the way he talks to him. He can see clearly that Zayn might be feeling something and that something might be going on, but not really, because if Harry really did realise that he's flirting with Zayn, he'd be shutting his mouth about now and running off to give Louis a handjob.

But that hasn't crossed his mind. All he's thinking is how hot Zayn looks in that sinful black romper of which Harry might be getting hard over.

"What's your favourite song?" he asks, trying to think up any excuse to get his hands on this boy right now. "Is it still that one by Demi Lovato or..?"

"No, no, it's not!"

Harry can't help but smile with the fact that he's making Zayn laugh. He thinks Zayn's laugh is so pretty.

"I haven't really... got a favourite song," Zayn explains, taking a bite of Frosties. "I mean, I've been loads into The Kooks lately. And Talking Heads."

"Yeah, I know The Kooks, but haven't heard of Talking Heads."

"Mate, you should listen to them. They did that one, _Burning Down The House_. You might've heard of it."

No, Harry hasn't heard of fucking _Burning Down The House_ and, no, he hasn't heard of The Kooks either, whatever that is, but if he knows one thing about flirting, it's that you make like an idiot and lie to force common interests. So he's quite got this.

He's gotten Zayn to show him the song off his phone, and he really does like it. He finds it's something Louis would listen to, and since they're so compatible, Harry basically likes every song that Louis likes. But it could also be because it's Louis and Harry loves Louis.

But somewhere during the time he's been with Zayn, Harry's shirt comes off due to a round of Never Have I Ever. Apparently Zayn is a lot more innocent than he thought because nothing is coming off of him at all. Except as someone confesses, "Never have I ever publicly masturbated," Zayn's face goes egregiously pink.

Harry doesn't look so delighted either. In fact, he looks like a dumbarse, glancing at everyone that isn't Zayn, though his dick is hard enough and he's pretty sure everyone sees it. His heart is racing so quickly; some people are taking off their clothes for this one, and, Jesus Christ, if Zayn doesn't man-up and take _something_ off by the next time Harry blinks, he is going to cry himself to sleep tonight.

But Zayn is all into that looking-pretty-whilst-being-the-ladest-lad-of-all-the-lads-and-making-them-all-look-a-pussy-all-at-the-same-time thing, so he takes off his romper and leaves himself clad in a frilly little camisole and boxer briefs that have _PRINCESS_ going all round the waistband _. Is Harry even breathing?_ That's the questions. If he could just slowly, discreetly touch Zayn's bum, or just simply get behind him and dance with him again, that would be enough gift-worthy action to last him five birthdays. And, yes, Harry hears Tyler, The Creator off the stereo, so if he doesn't get a dance with Zayn or a blowjob right fucking now, he actually might start crying from frustration.

"Never have I ever wanted to fuck someone so bad." Harry just said that. It's a good time for him to go home now.

The blush on Zayn's face has gotten redder if it's possible, and Harry is angry at himself for embarrassing him like that. Especially angry because people are taking clothes off to that, as if he actually meant it. Obviously, he did mean it, but only for his own slutty, sordid head that could use a trillion Louis-smacks about now.

"Hm. This is a good song," Harry says, thwacking a boy he doesn't know with his shirt because he's got eyes for parts of Zayn that shouldn't be looked at. "Come on, mate, let's go see if it's Childlike Garbanzo."

However it happened, Harry's got Zayn's arse on his dick, and although they aren't shagging, they really are quite making like they are. And Zayn is really making like he isn't straight. And has Harry ever wanted to kiss someone so badly? No. No, probably not.

Whilst he's eying Zayn's arse in those fucking princess pants, a tough thing for Harry to do without shoving him into the wall and fucking him in front of everyone, Louis is coming back from Mario Kart 7 with Marvin. Without Harry knowing anything about anything or that Louis even came in, he's getting punched in the back of the head and dragged across the room.

It doesn't matter what Louis says – Harry didn't cheat. They didn't date, they didn't kiss, they didn't fuck. Harry only grabbed Zayn's arse and ground against it a little, so it isn't really worth the head-punch or the slap across the face he knows is coming and, shit, it's not even Louis.

"Motherfucker, are you trying to lose the only thing good in your life?!" Niall scorns him, and there goes the slap across the face. "I can't believe you're cheating! You're cheating on Louis!"

"I am not. And you're dead. Go back to sleep."

"Stupid fuck, shut up! Fucking shut up! You cannot do this. You and Louis have been together _three_ years. You two have plans, yeah, do you not fucking remember? You're supposed to propose after graduation. You're supposed to move in together. Hell, I fucking went with you to pick out his ring and you're dry-humping that half-naked whore at the same bloody party you brought him to! I can't believe you're doing this. It never would've crossed my mind, ever, that you'd turn out to be such a fucking sleazy piece of shit!"

It's probably just the high he's on, but Harry's suddenly felt the need to cry. "Oh, no..." he sobs, tears running down his face. "I... I'm a terrible boyfriend. I'm a slut." He looks down, and the anger he feels toward his dick for getting hard and still being hard is evident. "Aw, man, I hate myself!"

Niall smacks him upside the head for saying that. "Me, too."

"Don't tell him, mate, please," Harry begs, ready to get down on his knees if need be. "Won't you not tell him? I won't do it again, I swear. I love him, Niall, I love him more than anything and I just can't see him get hurt. You won't tell him, yeah?"

"He's my best friend and I caught you cheating on him with your old crush."

"Man, I know. It was a onetime thing. I didn't kiss him or anything, we were-- We didn't..." But no matter what Harry didn't do, it doesn't change the fact that he wanted to, and he knows it. "Aw, shit," he curses himself, starting to cry again, and it's obvious now to everyone since he's decided to cover his face. "I'm such a... such a slutty... twat. I cheated on my almost-fiancé, man. Oh, God, I'm so pathetic!"

"You are," Niall says, patting Harry's shoulder. "You are really pathetic."

"Love, are you crying?"

Harry could have shit himself if he didn't have self-control, though he's proven tonight that he has absolutely none of that. He's quick to wipe his tears and flick his wet hair back to try to come off as the guy who doesn't cry at parties – give off the no-I-wasn't-crying-you're-probably-just-blind-or-something vibe. But the ridiculous, awkward face he's making just makes the scene a lot tenser than it should be, Louis beside him looking at him like he might be crazy.

Harry looks round the room. "Niall tried to snog me even though I said no. I mean, shit, what a hoe, right?”

“Fuck you, cunt! I'd never, ever kiss you in a million years and you know it!"

It's been almost two months now, and Louis doesn't really smack Harry that much anymore, but Niall still gives him a hard time all because Harry hasn't told Zayn the truth. The truth that, yes, maybe if things were different, Harry would give him the time of day, but for now and as long as things are the way they are, Harry's going to stay far, far away from him. To an extent. And that's why Niall gives him hell. Zayn is still in the group, and Harry can't just say "Stay the fuck away from me and out of my way, you filthy slut" because it's not like Zayn did anything wrong. Though it wasn't entirely Harry's fault either. But if Harry did try to keep Zayn out of the group, someone would surely ask why that is, and noway is Harry ever going to tell anyone what happened between him and Zayn at the graduation party.

Harry has gotten more into the feminine attire lately, starting to wear makeup again. He doesn't really fancy seeming the dominant of everyone right now, though he's probably the biggest if one should look closely. He's definitely the tallest, but Louis is the most feisty by far. So he's not going to be the big, bad fuck-up that screws round in relationships, briefly. No. Now that he and Louis are engaged, he is not going to be that guy; the guy that gets brutally fucked by Satan for having an affair, and already Harry feels more like a responsible adult for having the word _affair_ in his vocabulary.

But tonight is special because it's the first time Harry's faithfulness is truly put to test. He, Louis and the lads (as Louis is no longer a lad – he is a fiancé now and does not qualify anymore, apparently, according to Harry) are going out to the park for football, and as simple as it is, Harry is going to force himself onto Louis and Marvin's team or whichever team that _doesn't_ have Zayn on it so that he doesn't have to look at his angel legs in shorts.

Thank the heavens that Zayn isn't here just to be a menace and is normal enough to come in a T and joggers. Unlike Harry who is actually wearing makeup for this. It's only precaution, however. He is not going to play the stereotypical cheating fuck-up this time.

"Cheater!"

Harry's face goes disturbingly red, and the speed at which he turns round is dangerously quick, as he could have gotten whiplash if it were a tenth of a second faster.

Marvin wipes his face with his shirt. "Wait, what's happened?"

"Saw that hand you put on the ball," Niall addresses, taking off the piggybank to fix his hair. "That's a foul."

"Bullshit, it ain't a fuckin' foul. I didn't touch shit." Louis is always first for mean retaliation.

"Sorry, are you ref?"

"No, but I suppose you are."

"I could be.” Niall's made a smartarse of himself.

"You wanna be ref, yeah, then get the fuck out the game."

Harry shouldn't be embarrassed right now. He should be laughing because, goddamn, Louis just fucked Niall up, but recently, Louis' anger issues for little things like football and Animal Crossing sessions has Harry wishing he wasn't with him sometimes. Not that Harry wants a breakup, because he doesn't. He only wants to be able to joke and say, "Hell no, I'm not with him, whoever the fuck that hoe is," or possibly just smack the back of Louis' head for saying such indecent things. Harry's not going to smack him, though. Not unless he wants to get punched in the privates.

"Foul!"

"Fuck you, you cunt! I had enough of all your motherfuckin' fouls!" Louis kicks the ball at Maverick's head, but luckily he's fast enough to duck. "Fucking bloody bitch-arse team."

"Don't be a fucking baby." Liam rubs his shoulder, as he's surely bruised from where Harry accidentally elbowed him. (It wasn't an accident. Liam got angry at Louis earlier and said some pretty mean things, so of course Harry came to his defense. There wasn't much he could do, though, since they are in fact playing football and Harry isn't the cheater-type, so elbowing Liam in the shoulder and calling it an accident sufficed, even though Louis deserved it when he talked shit about Liam's overhand.)

"What the fuck did you say?" Louis fixes the crop on his sleeve. "I'm not fucking talking to you, Liam! Go back to sleep, fucking baby, if you're gonna be babbling to yourself!"

"All right, all right, it's not a big deal," Harry says, fanning his face though he's not hot or sweaty. "We're just gonna call all the fouls since we're all gonna ignore each other like that. It was a foul, that thing you did, love."

"No, it wasn't! I think I deserve some recognition for trying to pass with everyone's trying for the fuckin' ball. Sorry, forgot everyone here's the ref."

"No one's trying to be ref." Zayn comes in after an entire game of not participating in the foul debates, and if Harry isn't surprised by his sudden chat, he's forgotten that Zayn's even here. "We're just calling as is."

"This game sucks." Louis walks past Harry just so he can be near him a moment. "One of you stepped on the ball and made it flat, no one's passing, everyone's calling bullshit for fouls. It's a shit game." He lights a cigarette, and as if he were God himself, the boys agree it's a terrible game and go off to the truck to smoke.

Highs come quickly, all seven boys packed tightly in Liam's pickup, and Harry's got one of those awkward boners. He has Louis on his lap and they're shotgunning from time to time, so it makes sense for Harry to be horny. It's not like he's horny because Zayn's sitting across him in the driver seat. He is definitely not horny because of that. Harry clearly doesn't want to fuck Zayn or give him head or eat him out or anything like that. Hell, not with Liam sitting under him, rubbing his thighs like fucking freak. If anything, it just makes him jealous, but Harry has got the win because Louis is just the cutest, softest little thing ever that he can use to make Zayn jealous right back.

With Maverick and Marvin going back and forth with the auxiliary cord, the music is quite good – nothing like the feel of the graduation party a couple of months ago. He doesn't know some of the songs, but some of them he does because Louis listens to this sort.

"I like this song," Harry slurs, tapping Marvin's leg. "Text me it, this song."

"Gotta love Childish Gambino."

He can't help the smile on his face when Zayn says that, but he really doesn't want Niall to see him so he buries his nose in Louis' shoulder and kisses him there.

"This ain't Childish Gambino," Marvin butts in.

"Yeah, it's, um..."

"The Flaming Lips."

"Yeah, The Flaming Lips. Ego Tripping."

"Yeah. Ego Tripping."

Harry likes this song. _Ego Tripping At The Gates Of Hell_. He's thinking to download it tomorrow along with any other song he might like and play it during his morning shower/wank. And just as he guessed, he fancies the next song coming on.

The grin on his face as he sees Zayn jump, excited to hear the band he's majorly fond of, has Niall staring at him disappointedly, but Harry can hardly care because, really, what is he doing wrong? Smiling?

"Who's this?" Niall shoots Harry daggers from the passenger seat.

"Talking Heads," Harry, Zayn and Louis say at once"

"Sick band."

Harry nods to his fiancé's intake, leaning his face against Louis' back with his arms round him, and though he's cuddling his boy tightly, he can't stop staring at Zayn. And that's what's wrong. Liam's holding Zayn on his lap as he's got the pipe, yet Zayn's keeping eye contact with Harry across the truck, looking like the most beautiful person to ever walk the earth – with his hair mussy and looking exceptionally black, and of course Harry just assumed with a glance that Zayn wasn't wearing makeup tonight. But, no. Zayn thought to be a dick and do perfect winged liner just as he had it after graduation, which was sinful. And Harry's cock couldn't be any harder.

"Have you taken Viagra, Harry?"

He nearly chokes on the smoke he's inhaling on his turn, coughing and basically shooting the bud straight out of the bowl. It is really quite embarrassing because Zayn knows he's got a stiffy now thanks to Louis and is laughing with a covered mouth. But at least he's blushing, so thank God.

"Way to go, idiot-nonce!" Niall says as Marvin flicks the burning weed off his joggers. "You eat _shit_!"

"Shut up, lemon. It was done anyway." Harry tries handing back the pipe, but as it usually works out, no one's willing to refill after what Harry's just done. "You're kidding."

"You're the one that, like, coughed out that shit."

"Yeah, I know, you prick."

"Haven't you some?" Louis asks him, sure to stay quiet just in case he hasn't.

  
But, obviously, he does. Harry never doesn't have weed. He may not spend all of his money on it or deal, but, yes, he does always have it, and since mostly everyone is on a good high, the little he's got should suffice. If not, he couldn't give less a shit.

So Harry's off to his car across the field to get his anti-depressant. He hasn't really got clinical depression, though kids were mean to him in the past and he'd harm himself over it. But, no, Harry's not depressed, or at least not anymore, and the anti-depressant isn't his. It's something he found empty at the library last year, so he thought _why not?_

But of course, it's just like him that he can't find it in the absolute mess of clothes he has. He's rather upset with himself because some of these clothes are not meant to be thrown round and kept in a car for days where the bugs can get them, like his tank-top that says "flowerpot." That shirt is just too precious to have lain in this mess. But there, picking up his clothes, he's found his little anti-depressant, and maybe if someone brought water, they can hit from his bong. Maybe not, though. He doesn't feel like carrying anything.

It is quite the contradiction and sincerely the optimum test of faithfulness as of this second and so forth in the next few weeks.

Zayn is across the way standing still beside a tree, and, yes, Harry realises he's having a wee. And maybe if it weren't dark out and he wasn't high off his arse, he'd probably ignore him and walk back to the truck. Only Liam's truck looks much farther than it was before and Harry might trip and fall if he tries to take one step in that direction. Or maybe he won't even trip – maybe he'll just fall on the first step for no reason, which is certainly something he'd cry about because nothing could ever be more embarrassing than that.

He's spent too much time contemplating it now – God have mercy – and has caught Zayn's attention. The boy is hardly pleased, as Harry just standing there across the way in the dark must be one of the scariest things to lay eyes on.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you freaked the shit outta me."

Harry makes one of those faces – one of those high, deranged ones – and starts looking round to avoid eye contact as Zayn approaches him. "Oh. Sorry."

"Have you found it?"

"Found what?"

"Your spliff, love."

Harry's eyes go wide for a second, but it could just be because he heard a noise somewhere, which he didn't. "Have I? Uh... Yeah, I have found it. I have. But I didn't grind it."

"It's okay." The smile Zayn gives has to be the prettiest thing ever. "Suppose we can break it up in the truck, yeah? Um. And..."

Harry isn't concerned with what Zayn is saying, mostly because isn't listening. But as he realises the lad had actually tried to share something rather important, Harry's all ears.

"Wait, what were you saying?"

Zayn blushes, shaking his head as he looks down. "Nah, it's nothing."

"Oh, don't be like that." Harry starts walking in the direction of the truck, smiling down at Zayn who he invites to follow with the playful look in his eyes alone. "'And...' And what?"

"Well... I've this hallucinogen, salvia. I wanted to wait till I was with someone so I wouldn't have to smoke it alone... I-I never tried it before--"

"I'll smoke with you, love... If you want."

  
The way Harry and Zayn are looking at each other isn't a way between friends, for if one of the lads were to come out of the car to check what's taking so long, one of the two would definitely be pelted with rocks or something. And it most definitely won't be Harry because he's not playing the dominant role tonight. And if he could just wipe that eyeliner off Zayn's face and slap him in a suit, he would, because the more Zayn looks the part of the stereotypical cheating fuck-up, the more Harry doesn't.

But Harry can't seem to think like a master-manipulator at this point. Not with the way Zayn is looking at him with those darling brown eyes.

"Okay!" Harry announces, ignoring his obvious boner. "I'm gonna grind this, then yours. I'll roll everyone a joint so we can smoke together and have no one bugging us for a hit."

And the idea sounds lovely to Zayn. Except, to Harry, he's only made that the plan so Louis doesn't realise that his fiancé is smoking with someone else. It's no big deal, truthfully, but Harry has always made it like he was special, that he only likes to have enough just for Louis and him. Now, though, Harry's going to hide the fact that he and Zayn are smoking hallucinogens together and is going to make it very clear to whoever may realise it that he just doesn't give a fuck.

" _Hell_ o!" Harry climbs into the truck, and since he doesn't wait for Louis to hop out and let him in, Louis merely scoots across the seat to sit on Maverick's lap instead. "Sorry I took long," Harry apologises, taking a salvia blunt and tucking it behind his ear. "We were, uh... rolling these for everyone. Here."

"Shit, man, that's brill!"

"Sick. Cheers, nonce."

"Thanks, love." Louis smiles a warm smile that touches Harry's heart, because, oh, he really is a lucky guy to have a fiancé as gorgeous as they come.

"You're very welcome." Harry leans across the row and gives Louis a quick kiss before giving out the rest of the blunts, saving the special one for his special one. "Uh, just so we're right, this is a onetime thing. I'm not ever gonna roll everyone their own joint again. Ever."

In minutes, all the boys are amazingly high and good-feeling, nodding along with the tunes and laughing at the stupid thing that's said every two seconds. And only several minutes after everyone has started swaying the car to Harry's party-type music, he's starting with the effects of the salvia.

His hands and arms are mottled in mud, suddenly looking so fuzzy and prickly and, shit, they're much thinner than he remembered. He probably looks plain demented to everyone, but if he doesn't at least try to distinguish if he's really got dirt on him, he's going to end up clawing his skin off.

"You good, man?" Marvin asks, rubbing Harry's leg for comfort.

Only that freaks the hell out of him because he's forgotten Marvin was even there. "Shit, man..." Harry mumbles, shaking his head and closing his eyes. "Feel my arm. Feel it." He swings his arm out, nearly hitting Louis in the face.

The lads are laughing at how Harry's gone from rapping all of the songs and tectonic dancing to sitting with red, hooded eyes, talking nonsense on things that no one else believes is there.

"I'm being serious." Harry's being _whiny_ and needs to take a nap. "I... I need-a go home _right now_. I gotta... get this mud off me. It's itchy, man. I need to go!"

"Harry." Louis' been suspicious of him and his antics since he came back from his car, so it's only reasonable that he knows his fiancé isn't _just_ high. If Harry was “just high", he wouldn't be thinking he's covered in mud or bugs, and he certainly wouldn't be trying to scrape his skin off. "What the fuck are you on?"

Harry closes his eyes to think. "Oh..." he huffs, motioning his hand to get the name out quicker. "Shit... It's, uh... Ah, fuck, it's... Silvia?"

" _Sal_ via." Zayn takes another hit from his joint.

" _Sal_ via. Salvia-- Does my voice sound as deep as I'm hearin' that shit?"

"When'd'you smoke it?"

Harry turns directly to Marvin just in case he won't be able to hear, though they're right next to each other and Harry's just being stupid. "Right now, see?" He takes a drag and smiles.

"Yeah, good luck with them hallucinations, bruv."

Harry can't resist the need to rub his eyes. He's fighting it, as he knows he's wearing makeup and won't allow himself to look rubbish. Nonetheless, he's trying to blink away the werewolf-like creature that Liam is turning into. It's very hard to ignore. But what Liam told him, about the luck, has Harry a lot more bothered as opposed to not seeing Liam's hairy arm slip round Zayn's waist.

"Keep your bear-hands off my boy before you give him fleas."

That wasn't meant to come out. Harry is fucked. And he knows he's fucked because Louis isn't saying anything – he's only staring like he may punch him. No. Harry's mistaken. Louis is staring like he's heartbroken. Harry suddenly wishes he let Louis sit on his lap. And by the time the boys are well into a game of Truth-or-Dare, Louis is fine making it like Harry doesn't even exist.

"I dare you to phone your dad and moan like you're having sex. As soon as he picks up."

"Not my dad. Can't phone my dad. I can phone my mum if that's--"

"Yeah, ring your mum."

"Fine. Top or bottom?"

Remembering that there are two choices in his case, as some of them forget, they all immediately go with bottom.

Harry dials his mum, and the very moment he hears the click, he's nonstop moaning into the receiver until she starts yelling at him, cursing even, and hangs up.

He knows he's going to be in big trouble once he's home, but he'd never pass up a dare. And, sure, he said no to ringing up his dad, but only because doesn't quite want to get suffocated in his sleep. So as easy as it is, he's only agreed to do this for two reasons: Harry's no pussy and he wants to give Zayn a taste of what that he can't have.

It works, amazingly, as Zayn's face is deep red, and if Harry's not mistaken, there's a boner in his joggers.

So Harry wins.

It's been a week and a half now, and Harry is nothing but a lying, cheating scumbag.

Zayn has Harry's wrists against the bed, pinning him down as he passionately rides his dick.

They're in Harry's room, in Harry's bed, and the only reason his mum even let them both up there and hasn't barged in with biscuits yet is because Harry said that the lads are on their way over. But they aren't. No one is coming over tonight, and Harry has been lying to his mum for days now about these things, as for days, Harry has been hanging round Louis more often than he used to, because, for days, he's been overpoweringly guilty for fucking Zayn behind his back.

It's not that Harry loves Zayn more than he loves Louis. That can never in a million years happen, he thinks. Louis is the one person he sees when he thinks of forever. He wants to be with Louis into his death and his next life, because Louis is everything. Louis is everything he ever wants. But there are some things about him that Harry wishes he could just leave alone – sometimes Harry would like to not be hit for doing something wrong. He would like to be praised every once in a while for trying hard though he may mess up. Zayn doesn't smack him upside the head or make him feel stupid for saying the wrong thing. Like the Viagra. Zayn is everything that Louis isn't, and their sex is a lot rougher or sometimes a bit gentler because the fact that anyone can catch what they have at any time, can catch them sharing that look or exchanging those whispers or giving these little, tiny, passionate kisses that they do, it'll all be over and he will lose Louis. If Harry gets caught, he'll lose his fiancé forever. That's why he feels guilty. Because Louis isn't perfect, and Harry's blaming all of that on why he's screwing his secondary school crush.

Suddenly whilst the boys are tousling round in the sheets, kissing, giggling, whispering playful things to one another, Harry's phone goes off.

Reluctant on answering, he gives a few more quick kisses to Zayn's lips before reaching for his mobile at the windowpane. “Hey, what's up?” Harry's hardly listening to what's being said to him over the phone, too focused on the lad in front of him with dark, messy hair and devouring eyes, watching him crawl underneath the blanket to give him head.

“Wait, what?” he says, the line just going silent.

“Seriously?”

“Sorry.” He can practically hear the eye-roll. “I'm sorry. Geez, I couldn't hear you.”

Louis tsks. “I said Mav got everyone tickets to watch fireworks tonight. I know you're not really into that, them loud, exploding noises, but he's already payed for it and... Well, reckon it may be fun. There's a bunch of food there and cool things, carnival games and stuff. Dogs are welcome, as well. May be fun seeing some dogs.”

“Don't know if I'd fancy that.” Before he moans straight into the receiver, he moves his phone away and looks under the blanket, petting Zayn's hair back to see his perfect, pink lips.

Louis takes an exaggeratedly romantic breath. “Oh, my love,” he beams, making Harry smile. “You'll have fun, I promise. I'll get you one of them candy rings you like.”

“Gee, I don't know,” Harry says, playing the coy type. “I quite like them candy rings. Not sure just one will do.” He hears Louis laugh then, and Harry's heart hasn't skipped this much in a long time.

“I'll get you as much as you can fit on your giant fingers. As long as you go with me.”

Harry can't help the smile on his face. In the moments that are as special as this, he blushes so much that it's embarrassing. It's as if he's fifteen all over again and hopelessly, helplessly in this swooning sort of love. He still is. After three years, engaged now, he is as in love with Louis as when they first locked eyes in that dreadful school washroom.

What is he doing?

“Okay,” he decides, brushing his palm over Zayn's cheek and sitting up. “Is makeup all right?” He watches Zayn for a second, the boy taking the sheet and wrapping it round himself as he stands up from the bed, sad suddenly.

“Of course it's all right,” Louis continues to tell him. “I'm not super sure you'll have time to do that much, though. Fireworks are at nine. It's a quarter till and I'm already, like, two minutes from yours.”

The speed at which Harry stands is abnormal, and he definitely could have fallen over if he didn't have cat-like reflexes – he doesn't, but he likes to think so.

“You have to leave,” he whispers, picking Zayn's clothes off the floor and shoving them in his arms. “Get dressed, please, you have to go.”

Zayn chuckles rather halfheartedly, dropping the sheet off shoulders. “That's Louis, innit?”

Harry has no other choice but to ignore him and keep up the phone conversation as if nothing's wrong – as if everything is fine and dandy and he doesn't have Party Skank Zayn naked in his room.

“Okay, love, I'm getting ready now.” He mouths an _I'm sorry_ to Zayn with pleading eyes because, hell, he is just standing there looking upset and not moving at all. If Harry could grab him and kick his hot arse out the bloody door, he would, but his mum might see him and just might tell everyone like the goddamn gossiper she is, so, no, Harry will gladly not do that.

After Louis hangs up, Harry's frantic for his clothes. “Fucking Jesus Christ! Get fucking dressed, Zayn!”

“He treats you like shit.”

“I know that,” Harry agrees, pulling his pants and shirt on. But with his head quite stuck in the neck hole, he's realised he's saying all the wrong things. “I-- no. No, no, he doesn't! He treats me fine. He's just not-- Can you get dressed please?”

Zayn finally complies.

“Louis doesn't treat me like shit.” Harry squeezes his head through his shirt, which is impressive as he's had that shirt since he was thirteen, and trips into his jeans. “I proposed to him. I love him, okay? I... I don't even know what I'm doing. I shouldn't be doing this, this shit with you. I can't... I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.”

“You're right. You're engaged. I shouldn't be doing this either.”

Harry feels bad. Of course he feels bad – not just for himself. Zayn deserves someone so much better, someone who can actually give him time and won't sneak him round or pretend that there's nothing between them, is what Harry thinks. Zayn deserves to be more than a fuck. Though he is much more than that to Harry, and no matter how much he wishes he didn't, Harry will always have feelings for him, because he thinks - knows - that it must be the hardest thing in the world to get over a school crush.

When Louis comes, Zayn is still there. There's not much suspicion, however, because what Harry says is that Zayn came over to see Gemma about their blog, so Louis doesn't seem worried. Unlike Harry with his nerves that are radiating off him like sweat, and it might be that considering he's just had sex (with someone who is not his fiancé) and he is in the car with the both of them.

The fireworks nearly give Harry a stroke and have him use his inhaler. Inhalers are good for things like this. And also for throwing at the back of Liam's head for putting his arm round Zayn and saying it wasn't him and that he doesn't even have an inhaler because Harry surely isn't a nerd like that. Not that anyone believes him. They've all seen him use his inhaler at least once, so Harry just looks stupid for throwing it at Liam and lying about it. But (Harry's been contemplating this for a few minutes whilst trying to win a fish at the ring-toss) he can see that Liam likes Zayn a lot, and maybe he can just let everything go like he's supposed to. Maybe, just maybe, Harry has the strength to let Zayn go and be with Louis the way he is supposed to. He needs to stop thinking about Zayn and focus on moving in with Louis and taking the next step. Harry is going to win that damned goldfish.

Only he's terrible at ring-toss and spends six pounds before actually buying it.

“Hey, Lou, look,” he says to Louis by the candy-floss machine. “I won this at the ring-toss. I won it for you.”

Louis gives him his candy-floss, taking the bag from his hands. He looks at the fish's face very, very closely. “Oh, this one's real pretty, Harry. Thank you. I can't wait to put her in my tank.”

“How do you know it's a her?” He is completely swooning over Louis' fish-smarts.

“She's rounder than the males I have and her tail is different. See?”

“Yeah.”

No, Harry doesn't see. He doesn't pay attention to Louis' fucking fish and he probably never will. He doesn't feel bad about it; after all, Louis is the exact same way with Harry's parakeet and gardening facts – can't even tell the difference between a rose and a carnation. Harry wants to punch Louis in the face just thinking about it, or simply throw his inhaler at the back of his head when he's not looking. But he won't do that because, just like himself, Louis isn't perfect and cannot be expected to understand everything Harry is. And it's disgusting that he is manipulating the idea to fit his Zayn dilemma.

Though none of that works out. Harry is just as deep in shit as he has been since Zayn came back from Bradford. Harry hopes that one day he'll realise that he's made a big mistake and will dedicate every waking moment of his time to Louis. There is no one he loves more than Louis and his mother, but he will easily lose them both if they find out that for months he has been having an affair, still, a month before he is to go to university and make final plans to buy a flat and start a life with the person he's meant to.  
It's been three weeks.

When Harry is in the toilet after his shower, putting moisturisers and other things in his hair to keep the curls in properly, Gemma is downstairs answering the door.

“Hey,” she says, pulling the clip off the top of her head. “I'm getting ready to go out. Sorry I look all...”

Louis stands in the doorway smiling and takes a big step inside. “You look beautiful. You remind me a lot of a fish I have. I mean, he's male, but he's rather sweet. He's a gorgeous one. An independent one.”

The compliment has Gemma dramatically flushing like a young schoolgirl with truly no sense. “Why do you have to say things like that?” she mumbles, looking away. “I mean, shit, you've got blush on me.”

“Oh, um, is your brother in, by the way? I wanted to talk to him and your mum, but it doesn't look like she's here. I meant to speak to them about our budget.”

“For your flat?” The girl becomes utterly full-spirited in seconds, clapping her hands in the most celebratory way. “That's amazing! What kind of flat are you looking at? I'd help. Organising, furnishing, it's what I'm about.”

“Thanks, that's so thoughtful.”

“Jesus, I can't believe this is actually happening. It's like it was just yesterday I was punching Harry in the neck for flinging my knickers round the house, and now he's engaged and going to uni and... possibly shopping for wedding rings?”

Louis' face is preciously pink, completely embarrassed because this is Harry's sister he's talking to, and, no, Louis wouldn't mind marrying Harry now. But of course it's obvious to someone like Gemma - that cute, butting-in wench – that Louis wants to move in with Harry and share everything. He wants to share food, money, closet space (though it isn't much of a new thing), a bathroom, a bed whenever he feels like it. He wants to share a life with him, to be able to wake up to his voice everyday, to see him just out of a shower and making himself up in handsome or pretty clothes. To be married. That's what Louis wants.

“Oh,” he's decided to say, his ears feeling hot. “We haven't quite... talked about that yet. I can't just p-push that on him now or he'll get all f-frus-frustrated and, like, throw grass and dirt and shit on my bed.” Louis couldn't be more embarrassed about his god-damned stutter right now. But thankfully Gemma is polite enough not to make a big deal of it.

“Right. He probably would, since he's such a spas.”

“He talks to you about this, doesn't he?”

“Yes, he does.” Gemma gives a quick run through her hair, and once she realises she's tousled it, she groans. She scrunches her nose. “Shoot. Best go back to fix this, finish it up. It was real nice with you, this chat.”

“You, too.” Louis smiles a great smile. “It's actually a bit relieving to talk to someone who ain't straight up my arse all the time.” He doesn't mean the extremely homosexual play on words that goes along with his thought, but he is sure Gemma is too concerned about her hair to notice it.

"Harold!” Louis calls on his way up the stairs. “I seen a flat really near the school that's just above our budget, but I think you might agree it may be worth it. It's two bedrooms, two baths and a garage--”

As Louis opens the bedroom door, phone in hand to pull up the information he gathered about his findings, there isn't any possible way he can avoid the shock he feels the moment his eyes fall upon Zayn. And he wouldn't have minded it. Or at least would have been able to conceal the raging emotion if Zayn had been sitting in the corner playing with Harry's birds or by the window seat admiring the flowers or at the closet looking through his wardrobe for something to borrow and not return for a month. If Zayn had been doing anything besides sleeping bare in Harry's bed, Louis would have been okay. But since it isn't the case, and Zayn is laying naked in Harry's bed just now beginning to stir, Louis' chest is short of air, his breath absent. Nearly nonexistent.

His hands go numb, and he drops his phone.

Harry walks out of the toilet then. Though Louis can't see it, he knows the expression on his sweetheart's face as he hears him take a terrified breath. Louis knows him all too well not to know. Harry must be in nothing but a towel, one that's hardly round his waist or hiding much, his hair dripping, face opaque from the hot water, but Louis can't bring himself to look. Instead of confirming the dumbfoundness of his fiancé, he's started tearing up and rushes out of the room.

“I'm sorry!” Harry is just on Louis' tail going down the hall, struggling to get his towel round himself. “I'm sorry, baby, it was a mistake! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, love.” He takes a hold on Louis' hand, his fingers gentle and light with him, but if Louis isn't completely, utterly disgusted because of that, he doesn't know how he feels.

He snatches his hand away, but Harry is so persistent that he's gone to grab the other one.

“Please, my love, don't go! I'm sorry!”

Louis pulls away again. Now, thanks to Harry, all his hopes to leave without a single word have vanished into thin air. He turns and looks the lad straight in the face. “Get the fuck away me!" he screams. "Get away!”

The sudden loud voice of him is sure to wake Zayn or possibly get Gemma out of her room; she is too respectable, however, to go for someone else's business. Not that Louis needs her by his side now. No. He's too angry to be in front of someone, let alone have them support him, because if anyone were to come into the room and walk in on this, it'd be so obvious what had happen, and Louis just feels too humiliated for someone to realise it.

Harry's fidgeting with his hands, opting to say something, but as he's just finding the proper words, Louis is already out the door.

“Stupid piece of shit.” Louis pats down his pockets for his keys, trying to keep up his pace toward his car and away from Harry who won't stop following him, repeating the same I'm sorry over and over again. “Stupid, disgusting, shit-eating fuck. Can't believe I trusted him. Stupid fucking cheater.”

Swearing doesn't make him feel better. If anything, hearing himself say those things – _cheater_  – Louis feels kicked in the stomach, for actually hearing himself say it, he knows it's real, and now his tears just won't stop.

  
“I'm so sorry,” Harry says again, beating Louis to his car. If there's one thing Louis doesn't want to see now, it's Harry crying. “Please, Lou, I... I'm--”

  
“What? You're what? You're sorry?” And right now, Louis really doesn't want to cry either. “Thank you very, very much, Harry, for telling me that 500 fucking times!” He tries getting round to open the door, but his fiancé is nowhere near ready to move, and that only makes Louis cry more. “Can you... Can you just get out of the way?! I don't wanna talk to you!”

  
“Lou, please,” Harry begs, becoming a sobbing mess. “I know I fucked up. I fucked everything up, I'm sorry. It... It was just a onetime thing. I didn't mean for it to happen, it just did. I've got no excuses, none at all.”

  
Louis looks at him hopefully, but he wipes that look off his face the moment it comes. “'Just a onetime thing.'”

  
Harry nods. “Yes.”

  
“So this was the only time?”

  
He nods again.

  
“Did you have sex?”

  
It catches Louis off guard when Harry shakes his head. “No. No, I only took a shower. I didn't know he fell asleep in my bed like that, I swear.”

  
It's a long, long time Louis stares at him, and the way he's staring, neither sad or angry, makes Harry feel the most absolute amount of shame there is.

  
"So you didn't know.” Louis looks away to wipe his face as Harry fixes his towel that's sure to slip off. “You know, strangely, I believe that. You tell very good white lies, Harry. The only thing is that... before, you kept saying that you were sorry. Even if you didn't have sex just now, which I believe you didn't, I know that... I know you wouldn't have apologised for something you didn't do. So why are you lying?”

  
“I-I'm not.” Harry only denies it because he doesn't understand what Louis is getting at.

  
“Do you think I'm stupid?! You just said it was a onetime thing! A mistake! What was the mistake, Harry? Having Zayn over to hangout whilst you were in the shower, finding out that he randomly took all his clothes off and fell asleep in your fucking bed?! You're telling me you didn't know?!” Louis pushes him against the car, continuing to cry and be the part of some kid who gets cheated on; to be the part of a fooled idiot. “What happened to having no excuses? You're a fucking liar! You cheated! How can you just... propose to me and go and love someone else?”

  
“No, I love you! I only love you!” Harry tries to take Louis' hand, though like some kind of animal, he aggressively slaps it away.

  
“Thanks!” he says in spite. “Slutty fuck!”

  
There comes an immediate upsetting anger in Harry, his eyes becoming confused between sad and infuriated. “Why do you have to call me shit like that?” he asks, finally feeling the nerve to ask after all these years. “You always cuss me out all the time. It's them mean things you say that makes me feel like shit.”

  
“Shut your fucking mouth! Don't you dare make this my fault.” And just like that, Louis is putting Harry back in his guilty little place. “You really trying to make this my fault? You really trying to blame you cheating on me on me?” He scoffs. “All right. Right, I guess it is my fault. Maybe it is. Maybe I fucked up.”

  
“Louis, you--” It's too late for Harry to come up with words to keep Louis angry with him, because, yes, being yelled at by Louis is one of the worst things he can think of, but making him cry is the absolute worst.

  
“I fucked up,” Louis sobs, dropping his head. “I'm sorry I'm so mean to you. I shouldn't have been like that... But, Jesus Christ, Harry, this... Don't blame me.” He looks up and wipes his eyes, sure now that neighbours are eavesdropping on them. “I've a bad mouth, I know. But you knew that. You've always known since we met and it was your decision whether you wanted to put up with that. Okay, you... you knew from the day you met me that I literally cuss everyone out at one point or another. You knew that and you didn't care! You're full of shit.”

  
“Well, it's not like I was gonna make you change who you are for me.”

  
“Thank you!” Louis exclaims, pushing Harry against the car and hitting him. “Thank you for going behind my back and fucking that bitch instead of talking to me about how I could possibly be better to you! You could have talked to me! You were supposed to talk to me, not make it an excuse and make your disgusting affair _my_ fault!” He pushes Harry again, a lot weaker now, but no matter the force, it still manages to hurt Harry's heart. “You know what? I hate birds.”

  
Harry wipes his cheek. “What?”

  
“I hate them. They're loud and shit everywhere. They... They're always waking me up in the morning with their chirping and it irritates the shit out of me, especially with them _stupid_ parakeets! Them loud, obnoxious things you got, Harry-- They're insane, little tyrants. I wanna throw them out the fucking window sometimes, how you let them fly round your room, getting their feathers everywhere! But that's just the package deal with you, isn't it? That's what you gotta put up with to be with you? Well, I bought them the bigger cage. I fucking bought the bigger cage, so fuck your excuses."

  
"Please stay," Harry asks him once more for good measure. "I do love you. I love you so, so much. You must know that."

  
In case Louis would come crawling back soon, which Harry knew would never, ever happen, but return with inquiries as to why he didn't fight for him, he could remind Louis how it went down. That he did try.

  
But knowing Louis so well, he isn't surprised to hear him say no.

  
"I don't marry liars! You're a goddamn liar, Harry! Fuck you!" is what he actually says.

  
Harry steps aside before Louis came push him away, though regretted it instantly. He fights Louis for the keys as he gets into the car, shoving his fingers in the doorframe because if Louis really, truly wants to go, he'd close the door on his hand and have no other choice but to stay and comfort him. Even if just for a bit. But with how angry and persistent Louis is, he's beating on Harry until he can snatch the keys away. Drives with the door open and everything.

  
Harry can't even call after him anymore. He. can't say sorry anymore. His throat is hurting just like his head and his eyes and chest, but that doesn't keep him from crying. He's crying right in front of his house, completely falling apart to his knees. He can't see through the tears in his eyes, but he can somehow how make out the sound of someone's bare feet running up from behind him past his loud sobbing. Harry doesn't want anyone with him, doesn't even want himself with him, but that thought doesn't occur to Gemma who's run out in a beautiful outfit with her makeup and hair done and everything.

  
"Come here, kid," she says softly, engulfing her brother in her arms. Even as Harry tries to brush her away and begs her to leave him alone, she only holds him tighter and keeps his wet hair out of his face. She says things like "I know, I know" and "I've got you" which makes Harry want to die.

  
How did he ever manage to fuck up so?

 


End file.
